Stavanger Bay You Win or You Die

she lost herself in this -- the old instinct slipping in.

as if a nictating membrane slipping over the black and soulless eyes of a shark: strike here, lash there. rip.

watch as a garland of bright red stains the hunter's chest.

and then it was over; she laid in the sand panting, sides heaving and seal-matter flecked across her auburn fur.

dat's a good color on you. she motioned to the boutonnière of vivid blood staining through ivory.

an' now you 'ave one bride price.

after they collected their breaths, sobeille rose. she walked the swashline and listened to the call of the gulls. briefly, she ran her paws over the saltwater and laughed at the spray as it braced her cheek and chest.

and then she returned to him, ready to assist in carrying his heavy trophy home.